


Down at the Burlesque Lounge

by FilipinoMestiza



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crawford Starrick in a three piece suit yes please, Eventual Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6932524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FilipinoMestiza/pseuds/FilipinoMestiza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can either find a seasoned vixen, ready to lure you down her den.<br/>Or you can find what you need, amidst rhinestones and pretty ostrich feathers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down at the Burlesque Lounge

He was there, sitting at his favored booth just a little ways off, and as usual, he was alone. You knew who he was; everyone does, and should, these days. He was Crawford Starrick: successful CEO, lover of all things old-fashioned, and the most treasured benefactor of the Burlesque Lounge. According to rumors, it was his patronage that saved the place from utter bankruptcy, for whatever reason, you had no clue. But thanks to his donations, the Madame had quickly transformed the place into a watering hole for the rich, famous, and sometimes political. The most intriguing gossip, above all, is that Crawford has a tendency to increase his fundings when he regards a performer of his choice.

And who would’ve thought that one day you’ll prove those tidings wrong.

Fresh from another fun-filled striptease, you practically had a bounce in your step as you bid the audience goodbye for the night, and disappeared behind the red velvet curtains. Ever since the renovations, each girl with solo routines were provided their own rooms, and thus giving them enough privacy, if so desired. Although you did hear that one girl, Stella-Something, was banned from bringing liquor into her dressing room since she tended to mess up her gags.

So you were not surprised to discover several pretty bouquets decorating your doorway, with the occasional stuffed toys and hand-made gifts appearing here and there. However, what caught your attention was the big shoe box placed directly on your pink doormat. There was no letter to indicate the sender; only a deep lavender card was taped on the lid. The message merely said—

“Third Booth.”

Your breath hitched a little. You knew exactly where that booth was, and who was its frequent occupant. Opening the cover, you audibly gasped at the sight of the pink shoes nestled atop soft papers. While it was the usual stiletto heels-platform base combination, you were impressed to know that it was purchased from a very expensive fashion brand.  
If this was Starrick’s way of wooing you, it was rather effective. Wasting no more time, you entered your dressing room and prepared yourself to meet that generous gentleman. You put on a fitting beige dress that showed off your glamorous figure, and slipped into your new footwear with a big smile on your face. Letting your (H/C) hair fall free from its bobby pin prison felt good in so many ways, and you liked how its soft waves framed your face.

By the time you emerged from the backstage, the club continued to be in full swing: waitresses in sexy French Maid uniforms walked past you in their black high heels, balancing silver serving trays that carried essential snacks and drinks to certain booths; the live band was playing a wanton tune, while one of your friends, Aphrodite Precious, was on her way in unlacing her tight corset to the Pink Panther theme song.

The booths of the Lounge were encased in sheer red fabric, almost Moroccan in motif, giving the customers a feeling of privacy. Crawford sat in the middle of the rotund seat, silently appreciating the fine taste of his whisky. He himself was garbed in a fitting black, three-piece suit and a pair of dark oxfords; his iconic moustache had been groomed well, whereas his undercut hairstyle was on point. At the moment, he was watching the show intently, but when he cast his gaze sideways, all of his attention seemed to focus on you.

“Mr. Starrick,” you said, putting on that practiced smile and false seduction.

Crawford stood, buttoning up his suit jacket in the process, and held his hand out for you. “Sweetie La Creme Anglaise.”

You chuckled for real before gladly accepting his courteous gesture. “Please, it’s (Y/N), Miss Aphrodite, however, is the subject of delight at the moment.” 

Crawford’s fingers were warm as it curled around your soft hand, and you wondered if it was the alcohol that was giving him heat. Once you were settled into the enclosed booth, he then offered you his preferred drink, which was a classic Jack Daniels, aged and stored with utmost care in the world. You declined kindly, since you tend to favor the more merrier kind of drinks. A waitress soon approached your table, sparing you a fleeting look before asking Crawford if he needed anything else.

“Yes, a drink for the lady, if you please,” he said to her.

“I’ll have my usual, Pamela.” You told the young woman, and then passed the near empty ice bucket to her. “And another helping of ice for Mr. Starrick as well.”

The audience suddenly clapped and whistled loudly once Aphrodite finally bared herself to all present. She bowed several times, and then took her timed moment to exit the stage. Turning to Crawford, you noted that he was barely intoxicated by his drink, even though it was quite clear he had been drinking a lot since he arrived. You nearly giggled thinking he was conjuring up liquid courage in order to talk to you. How sweet of him.

“I got your present, it’s very lovely.” You told him, sliding your foot to rub against his leg to emphasize your point. If he had felt it, his face wouldn’t dare convey the truth.

“I’m glad it is to your liking,” he said; that rich baritone voice tinged with an English accent sent a shiver down your back, and had somehow pooled right down into your belly. “Many women in this club enjoy anything that sparkles under the light, but someone tipped off that you prefer less rhinestones, why is that?”

You had to smile at that. “Why? Because in the end, the only thing that will sparkle under the spotlight is my body, in its natural seductive allure.” 

His cold blue eyes are studying you carefully, every inch taken with great consideration. He took a long sip of his whisky; his gaze never unwavering. On the stage, a gag brought out the fun and laughter out of everyone, including the band, but neither you or Crawford seemed to mind. Pamela soon returned with a glass of strawberry basil mojito, as well as a copper bucket filled with ice. She smiled at both of you before taking her leave.

“I have been observing you for quite a while, Miss (Y/N).” Crawford finally announced. You were kind enough to put more ice into his glass, and poured the whisky yourself.

“Oh? And is it worth the wait, Mr. Starrick?” You asked, crossing and un-crossing your legs under the table. “I’m sure any girl you’ve favored was elated upon hearing that.”

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

“Ah,” you paused, seeing that his faint look of confusion was genuine. “So the rumors were false after all.”

“Rumors? What rumors?”

Smiling, you scooted closer to Crawford until you were just an inch away from his ear. “They say you double the financial support if you like a particular girl.” He didn’t even look at you; he only reached for the bottle and poured another round for himself. 

Out of nowhere, he produced a low chuckle, grinning like a child who had stumbled upon the best secret he had ever heard. “If I had done such thing, the Madame would have to retire earlier than expected. And you wouldn’t have to dance or tease us any longer.”

“Oh.” You reached for your mojito and took a sip to hide your slight disappointment.

“And you’ve wondered why none of your friends had tossed themselves at my feet yet?” He placed his glencairn glass beside your drink, and his left hand settled upon your thigh. You almost spilled the contents of your mojito onto your lap from the sudden contact.

“As I mentioned before, I have been observing you for quite a while, (Y/N).” The hand on your thigh moved lower, opting to make slow circles around your knee. “Out of all the girls that are in this lounge, I always find myself thinking of you. Often times, when you striptease for the audience, I imagined that you were doing it for me.”

“You’re so forward, Mr. Starrick.” You teased, regardless of the familiar sensation you felt growing in your stomach. Oh God, you practically wanted his hand to glide back to your thigh, and maybe lift the hem of your dress a little.

“My dear, you initiated this little game of ours the moment you accepted my invitation.” 

“And what if I tell you that I’ve wanted this for a very long time as well?”

Crawford stilled for a second, and then resumed again. “Then I apologize if I had taken this long for us to meet.”

“No need for that, darling. I’m glad we’ve crossed paths now.”

“Indeed.”

Then, without hesitation, you leaned forward to press your lips against his. His moustache briefly tickled your skin; his hand gripped the flesh of your thigh firmly, but not enough to leave markings. Before long, Crawford returned your kiss, albeit gradually. He angled his head so he could capture your lips better, and you happily complied, reaching up to gently rub down his shoulder, and encouraging him to relax. When he suddenly pulled away from you, there was a faint yet recognizable shimmer in his blue eyes, and you knew what was coming next.

“I’ll just get my bag from the dressing room, shall I meet you at the front?” you asked him, a little out of breath.

“No, I came here on my own tonight. Meet me at the parking lot instead.” Crawford said, stealing another kiss as you started to move away. “It’s the 1959 Jaguar, I’m sure you can find it easily.”

You hummed in reply. You did love a little vintage in your life, and being able to see one heck of a treasure made you very excited. The walk back to your dressing room was supposedly quick, but your friends kept asking about the rose bouquets and little gifts. Shaking your head, you joked about how your apartment will look like a funeral parlor if you continue to accept those sort of gifts every week. Once you had everything safely tucked into your handbag, you bid your friends goodbye, blowing kisses as you went.  
Sure enough, Crawford was waiting for you right next to a white vintage Jaguar XK150. You had to gasp at the sight of it, the vehicle looked so well-maintained, almost as if you had stepped back in time.

“I wish you could look at me that way as well, my dear” he said, guiding you over to the passenger seat.

“I’m sorry; I promise to give you my full attention later, sir.” You smiled at him, batting your thick eyelashes as a way of alluring him. Crawford huffed, and yet he still came down to kiss you again, before allowing you to get inside his most prized car.

The night had just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a long while since I tackled a Reader-Insert story, so please tolerate whatever mistake I've done.


End file.
